Secrets, Lies, Daggers and Revenge
by teh 4th freakee fairet
Summary: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse
1. Premeditated

**Hey everyone! This does later involve lots of darkness and McGee-abuse, which we all love so much, even we love him ;3 Ah, poor Tim. We really do love you, I promise.**

**Summary**: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface- secrets that want him dead. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

_Thinking._

(Author's notes within story.)

* * *

**Secrets, Lies, Daggers and Revenge**

_Chapter One: Premeditated_

Gibbs brought his wrist to his mouth and repeated, "McGee, do you have the back covered?" The response sent ice through his limbs.

Garbled and distorted, obviously from damaged communication devices, Timothy replied, "B-ss, hel... attacked... n...d help-" Then there was a final crackling snap and silence. Gibbs' years of training kicked in just as the other agents listening began to speak in a panic through the ear piece.

"Tony, fall in, get our guy! Ziva, get to the back _now_." Tony began to protest, wanting to help their apparently fallen friend but Gibbs cut in, "Tony, _do what I say!_" With that, Gibbs left his post at a side door and ran around to the back of the restaurant. It was a dimly lit alley, with two dumpsters and garbage scattered about. There was evidence of a fight where Timothy should have been standing in wait.

Ziva was already there, body tensed, gun pulled but held low. She waited for Gibbs' signal and they prowled forward on either side of the narrow path. They passed the back door, heading further down the alley where light barely penetrated, and saw dark, oily spots. Ziva touched one and held her hand to the light- it was blood.

A sudden clattering pulled them up, Ziva leading, both their guns raised. There was a guttural cry that cut short with the trademark sound of a gunshot. At the end of the alley, where it branched off into the sides stood a tall man, gun pointed down on a fallen figure.

Gibbs' stomach twisted and his hands burned to pull the trigger, but there was no way to be certain that Timothy wasn't the man standing. "Drop your weapon!" Gibbs barked and the figure turned sharply to see them. Light fell across his face. Not Timothy, which meant the fallen man, the shot man, was...

Ziva fired but the stranger was already running. She took off after him, pounding out the distance between them. Gibbs sprinted to his fallen agent. He prayed for it not to be the young, awkward man that had grown to be an invaluable member of the team, but Gibbs shifted the figure and sure enough, was horrified to find Timothy staring into nothingness, a look so close to that of the dead for a moment Gibbs' heart said it was so.

He felt for a pulse and found one. Ripping his cell out of his pocket, Gibbs punched in 911 and barked before the operator could even speak, "I need an ambulance to the back of McCormick's on 6th! C'mon Tim, c'mon, look at me." Gibbs adjusted Timothy, growling details into the receiver, and tore the blood-stained shirt front open, locating the gunshot wound in the middle of his chest. Ziva returned, panting and furious.

"Damn it! He escaped me- dear god, McGee!" She fell to one knee and replaced Gibbs' hands in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the wound.

To both their horror, blood was absolutely pouring from Timothy's mouth, darkening his chin and running down his neck. It was enough to make him believe that Timothy had been stabbed in the mouth, and he turned the younger agent's head so that he didn't drown in his own blood. Siren's wailed in the distance and Gibbs squeezed Ziva's shoulder and ran out to the entrance of the alley. He waited to direct the ambulance as quickly as possible once it got there.

"Gibbs, I am losing his pulse!" Ziva crouched over Timothy. Somehow the shot had missed his heart but there was no way his lungs had made it out unscathed. Instant death avoided, but still a huge risk of dying in the next few minutes. Even if that was avoided, a shot so centered could've easily hit his spine...

Tony appeared around the corner of the alley, dragging a badly limping man in handcuffs behind him, but he paid no heed to the man's protests of agony. He spotted the ambulance down the road and turned to where Ziva worked to keep Timothy alive. "No, McGee!" He kept an iron grip on the criminal and literally dragged him to where the other agents were. Gibbs stepped out into the road and waved his arms, signaling to where the screaming ambulance should turn. It slowed down, the driver considering the width of the alley, and stopped.

By now, a crowd had begun to gather but the EMTs ignored them and pulled a wheeled stretcher out. They ran straight past the team leader with a variety of equipment and Ziva and Tony backed away. Both were covered in blood, and one paramedic shoved a heavy duty flashlight into Ziva's hands. She flipped it on immediately and a collective gasp went up as the darkness was obliterated.

Timothy lay in a growing puddle of blood, eyes partially open, almost half his clothes wet and dark from the quickly-depleting substance. The amount that had come from his mouth was simply huge, staining his face, shirt and neck in powerfully-illuminated red. The senior EMT put an emergency wrap on the man's chest while they hoisted him up onto the stretcher. Another shined a small flashlight into his mouth and Tony shuddered at the sight. Timothy's tongue had been slashed- not cut out, but wounded enough to make the EMT stifle a gag. She ran with the gurney, pushing a flat cotton wad in his mouth, letting him breathe but stopping the blood from flowing back down his throat.

As they pushed Timothy and the stretcher up into the ambulance, Gibbs considered climbing in but called Tony over and half guided, half shoved him in. "We'll be at Bethesda in fifteen minutes!" Gibbs said as he grabbed the injured and confused criminal from Tony's iron grip and helped close the doors. "Take care of him, Tony!"

Tony had only enough time to choke out, "Yes, boss!" before the doors slammed shut and the vehicle was long gone from Ziva and Gibbs.

* * *

**So was that not McGee-abuse-tastic or what? I don't know if I could kill him but he sure as heck is going to suffer. I'm weird, I know- but you're reading it too! Haha, I'm just joking, I love you readers. Please review if you want to hear what happend after this! XD**

**Edit: About half way through, I went from calling McGee 'Timothy' to 'Mcgee' and it bugged the crap outa me. I went back and changed it all to 'Timothy'... Wut? It was inconsistent.  
**


	2. Blood Trail

**-sigh- I've worked too long on this chapter. You know how you work on something for too long, you get the feeling that it's just completely wrong and you want to start over? I'm currently restraining myself from deleting the whole thing and just writing the chapter again when I get back next week. Well, R&R guys!**

**Summary**: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface- secrets that want him dead. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion.

Regular text.

"Speaking."

Thinking.

(Author's notes within story.)

* * *

_Chapter Two: Blood Trail  
_

Ziva stared after the ambulance, the flashlight hanging limply from her hand. "Gibbs, I am sorry," she said, regret heavy in her eyes. Her hands and chest were covered in dark red. "He fired at me and I hung back. I lost him."

Gibbs quelled the rage boiling in his stomach. Someone had targeted Timothy- for a reason unrelated to the current operation. Sighing, he turned to Ziva. "It's not your fault. He must've been damn good to outrun you." Ziva's mouth twitched at the compliment, as both he and Ziva snapped out of it and ran towards the car.

"Yes, but why McGee? Just because he was by the back entrance?" Ziva's expression became harder. She really wanted to have caught Timothy's attacker after seeing the damage that had been done. "The assault seemed unnecessarily vicious if one simply wanted to use the back entrance. He had a gun- one bullet would have been enough."

"There were more wounds?" Gibbs asked, his suspicion confirmed. The handcuffed informant between them began to protest but Gibbs, without pausing in the conversation, shook him once. The man then chose to keep his mouth shut.

"We only saw his tongue- it was cut through and bleeding quite a bit," Ziva answered and climbed into the back to hold the criminal. "We should go straight to Bethesda, Gibbs." She glanced with a disdainful look at the handcuffed man. "This suspect is injured as it is. I will call for LEOs to meet us there and take him into custody after he is treated- ahh!" Gibbs took off without warning, well above the speed limit in a few seconds. Ziva said through gritted teeth as she pulled out her cell and dialed, "All right then. I am glad we have a plan."

Gibbs also took out his cell phone and called a number without taking his eyes off the road. "Hey, we have a crime scene behind Mccormick's that needs to be secured. One my agents was attacked and we couldn't afford to stay at the location."

There was a burst of sound from the other end and Gibbs swerved, getting around a car and speeding ahead of it. An icy tone entered his voice that made Ziva raise her eyebrows. "Well, when someone on my team was bleeding out in an alley and we had a dangerous criminal in custody on our hands, I couldn't afford to leave someone at the scene. I'm aware that a broken chain of evidence can let a murderer walk. But this _isn't _going to be a murder. How quickly can you get to the scene?" Gibbs listened for another heartbeat then hung up, apparently satisfied.

Ziva continued to speak for a moment, then hung up with a quiet 'Thank you.' Bethesda came up on the right and they stopped haphazardly in front. Gibbs took off ahead of Ziva, saying only, "Secure him. I'll find McGee and Dinozzo." Ziva nodded and watched the older man run off. She then looked to the suspect again and glared without even speaking. If this man hadn't been selling agency secrets and flaunting his earnings, then Timothy wouldn't have had to have been behind the restaurant. He wouldn't have been attacked- at least, for the moment.

Dragging the man behind her, Ziva found a security guard and placed the man in his hands. She flashed her badge. "NCIS has just apprehended this man and he now needs hospital care." She didn't mind how the bluntness of her statement seemed to place blame on them for the injuries. "He is very, ah, slippery. Some local officers will be here shortly to retrieve him. Please do not leave his side. Here is my number. He is being charged with numerous federal offenses and is responsible for several deaths- all you need to do is watch him until the LEOs arrive. If there are any issues, call me immediately."

The security guard, staring at her grotesquely bloodstained front, merely nodded. Ziva nodded back and marched off to the front desk. On the counter front were two distinct handprints in blood that smeared off to the left. Gibbs must've run in that direction.

Ziva leaned against the counter. Though most people were not very accustomed to the sight of a young woman covered in blood calmly approaching them, the head receptionist was unfazed. Once again, Ziva flashed her badge. "I am looking for the NCIS agent that-"

"Just ran through here? Or the one that wouldn't let go of the gurney? Or the one _on _the gurney?"

"All of them."

The receptionist flipped the page on a clipboard. "The injured one is currently in the OR. The other two should be in the waiting room outside the OR, down the hall to the left. There's also a bathroom on the way." The older woman gestured to her arms and chest. "You may want to stop by there."

"Thank you," Ziva said and walked away, glancing down at the offending article. "It is not that bad." She strode down the hallway, feeling suddenly alone, despite the numerous people she passed. How should she feel? Anger was expected- frustration and resentment at this dangerous attacker. Anger was powerful, anger was good. It was either that or detachment.

But this was McGee. A team member and close friend that she had worked with for years. She had lost team members before, but in NCIS, the loss was more than that. It was as if death on the job was the exception, not the expectation. But she dealt with things differently. Logically. They were so much more- emotion-driven here.

Ziva looked up and saw Gibbs standing by the corner, talking quietly on the phone. Tony sat near him, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Neither had yet to wash the blood off themselves.

"I know, I know, shh… " Ziva's ears perked at the odd tone in Gibbs' voice. It was so… fatherly. Warm. Comforting. Ziva was surprised to find a pang of jealousy in her gut. "They're saying he has another half an hour of surgery. Can you drive here? All right. We'll be here. Abby, Abby, take a deep breath. I don't want you driving if you're like this." Gibbs turned around, sensing Ziva's eyes on him. "Hold on a sec." He motioned her over.

Taking a deep breath, still unsure of how she should act, Ziva reported. "Webb is taken care of. What is, ah, the prognosis?" Gibbs looked across the room to the hall blocked with glass doors reading the message, 'Authorized personnel only.' Somewhere in one of those rooms, Timothy was under the knife.

Gibbs covered the phone. "He has a fifty-fifty shot of survival. If he survives the next twelve hours, they think we'll be out of the woods." He turned his attention back to Abby, murmuring softly. Ziva sat next to Tony, who didn't look up, but continued to stare at the floor.

Tony finally said after a long silence between the two, "He woke up in the ambulance. He was… terrified. Couldn't talk, obviously, but he was so scared." Shadows passed in his eyes. "I think he knew who attacked him. I tried to get him to calm down, but he could barely see me he was so distracted. Crying. I just- just held his hand and talked. Longest five-minute drive of my life, Ziva." Tony stared at his bloody hands. They were shaking. "Damn Probie, he barely- barely got started."

Ziva felt another sudden twist of unexpected emotion. She felt the urge to comfort him. It wasn't his fault that Timothy was injured, it wasn't any of their faults, but that wouldn't change how wrong it would be if he didn't make it.

"It is all right, Tony," Ziva said awkwardly. This heart-to-heart thing _was _rather new. "I do believe our McGee will make it. He is too stubborn to give up, and what would we do without him?" Tony gave her an odd look, both intrigued by her attempt to reassure him and desperate to believe her words. "No, McGee will be fine, and once we find his attacker, he will get the justice he deserves."

Tony continued to stare and Ziva felt that she might've said something wrong, until, finally-

"Thank you, Ziva."

It was as if he were seeing her in a whole new light. He remembered when Gibbs had been injured and her apparent indifference. Perhaps she didn't want to make the same mistake twice. Perhaps she was just learning that she could express her feelings without being weak.

Gibbs interrupted the moment. "You two, go get cleaned up. When McGee gets out of surgery, I'm going to stay here and guard him. I want you two to go home."

Immediately, Tony and Ziva jumped up. Tony got his word in first. "Boss, I'll stay."

"I will also stay. We are on the lookout for McGee's attacker to return, yes?"

Gibbs stared and their protest quickly withered. "Tony, I want you to go home and get cleaned up. Get me a change a shirt, too, and stay on the first shift with me. At three, Ziva, you better be here to relieve Tony. We'll start an official detail tomorrow but for now this'll have to do. Now I'm gonna find some coffee, and you two are gonna get cleaned up." They stared at him. "Now!"

"Yes, boss!" they chorused and ran off. Gibbs watched them vanish into their respective restrooms and sighed. He would wait for them to get back in case Abby arrived, so that someone familiar would be there to greet her. The moment of solitude, however, allowed dark thoughts to rise in his head and weigh down his heart.

"McGee," he muttered. "You're such a good kid. You better fight. You better fight through this." Gibbs was speaking in reference to the surgery and immediately afterwards where things would be uncertain, but he would soon realize that Timothy had many more tribulations to come- ones scarier than a gunshot to the chest.

* * *

**Phew, thar u go! Hope you liked it! Now, imma be gone for a week, but depending on the response this gets, i'll prolly update right when i get back! :3 you readers rock my socks. **


	3. Losing Odds

**augh, stomach- hurts- can barely- type- plz enjoy- this chapter- r&r! *is dead***

**anyways, i didn't like this chapter much. i mean i had to do loads of research so i didn't sound retarded on the legal/police-ish part and the medical part, and the whole thing just seems wordy... but stomach pain and dissatisfaction aside, here's numero chappie three :3**

**Also, I wanna give a shoutout to all those who have reviewed, faved and/or alerted on this story: **

**_starjems88, lime juize, Dumbledore's Emerald Phoenix, pippy93, Moonstruck Chocolat, amdelodder, .Sinister., harrylover101, diana teo, polarpi, addy, smartkid37, meffie, Ataxian girl, Crazy4YuYuHakusho, updatenow, MySupermanJoeDJDangaa, thian, FairELF, Kamali Shen, musicgurl21284, Purple Feather 1, spannsa, WannabeAuthor2545, buckyboo, calindsay, Carter rules, CrazyWoman200253204, GooooodPie, HarrySirius Fan, Homicidal Leprechaun, mlmccrayx2, Precious Pup, smartkid37, Smiley1488, smilingT12_, and, last but not least, _TLWalcher_. **

**You guys freakin rock! (And, if you want your name removed from this list for some anonymity reason, message me and I'll take care of it!)  
**

**Summary:** During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and secrets from his past begin to resurface. How far will McGee go to save his job? His friends? Himself? blood, swearing and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

_Thinking._

(Author's notes within story.)

* * *

_Chapter Three: Losing Odds  
_

Watching Tony and Ziva walk away with his car keys, Gibbs let out an exhausted sigh. All he wanted to do was sit down and take a nap, to wake up refreshed and everything magically okay- but with his agents gone, Gibbs would be doing anything but sleeping. In fact, he'd better kick his senses into high gear. He was on guard duty now. He had to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity or shady people and be able to make split decisions in a dangerous situation.

He needed coffee.

Before heading towards the front reception area, he stopped at the bathroom. His hands were covered in dark red-brown, his gray jacket splotched in equally-sickening patches of rust color. He couldn't walk around like this.

The restroom was blindingly white like the rest of the hospital, except for one stainless steel sink with diluted red in it. Gibbs stared at it, exhaustion pulling on him again. _That must be where Dinozzo washed his hands. _Despite his years upon years of training, anger and pain boiled up in his stomach. However, he knew how to transform that burning, wild fury into cold, targeted fuel. He glared into the icy eyes of the older man in the mirror before him.

"We'll get that bastard," Gibbs said to an unconscious man somewhere in the hospital. He flipped on the sink and began washing his hands. Rusty water swirled down the drain. A stirring of self-targeted anger rose up in his gut. He could've gotten back there faster. He could've stopped the shooter from putting a bullet in his agent.

Gibbs stopped and gripped the sink in his dripping hands. He could've put Ziva at the back instead. She would have faired better in that ill-fated fight. Timothy never did have luck with the back door post anyway. Remembering back to when Jethro, the dog, had attacked Timothy, that had been a back door post as well.

"There's no way I could've seen this coming." He snatched some paper towels from the dispenser, wetted them and tried to scrub at his jacket then, giving up and removing it, his shirt. "The back door was a precautionary measure anyway. Webb was working alone." Gibbs examined his shirt. Both it and the jacket were a lost cause, but the first was much less stained than the latter. He'd settle for wearing the article less gruesome.

Almost as he came to the decision, a familiar female voice came from the hall. "Gibbs?! Gibbs, are you here?"

Leaving the jacket on the counter, Gibbs sprinted out to find Abby clad in a black night gown with makeup-stained tear tracks on her face. She spun towards him and gasped at the comparatively-small bloodstain on his shirt.

"Gibbs! Oh, my god!" She grabbed him in a full-armed hug and let her tears flow again. "Oh god, oh god, I don't know what I'm gonna without Tim. He's so smart and sweet, and he _always _got my computer jokes-"

"Abby, Abby, McGee is _not_ dead. He's still in surgery and he is going to be fine." He pulled her away as she wiped at her eyes and sniffled and held her at arms' length. "Look at me. Tim needs you to be positive right now, okay? You're one of the people he's gonna want to see first when he comes to, I'm sure." Abby nodded, sniffed, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Okay, I can do that. Think positive, think positive." Closing her eyes, Abby muttered this to herself and focused. After a heartbeat, she looked up and was considerably calmer, though Gibbs could feel an undercurrent of panic just below the surface. She looked around the waiting room. "Where are Ziva and Tony? Oh god, don't tell me-!"

"No, Abby, they're perfectly fine!" Gibbs said almost pleadingly. "They just went home to get cleaned up, then Dinozzo's coming back to watch over McGee with me." He avoided the phrase 'guard duty' lest it spark panic, but she caught on to the reasoning anyway.

Abby fixed the older man in an intimidating Gibbs-esque glare, making him regret her ability to learn so well so fast. "Gibbs, as much as I worry about things, I am not a frail little child that you need to protect. Why does McGee need body guards? This didn't have anything to do with the case, did it? Webb was working alone. He had no way of knowing about this sting, and he didn't have any associates that just happened to be with him. M-McGee and I were the ones that proved that with his payment records!"

Gibbs sighed and looked away. She was sharp as ever, even with grief and anxiety clouding her head. "It's true. I think someone targeted McGee directly. I think it was personal." Abby began to speak up but Gibbs interrupted her. "Now, Abby, I need you to do something for me. It's _very _important."

"Okay," Abby said warily. Whatever he was about to ask of her, she had the feeling he knew she'd resist.

"I need you to go to the crime scene and establish jurisdiction. LEOs should already be there so-"

"Gibbs! I can't go! I need to be here when Tim gets out of surgery!" She grabbed his hand and squeezed to emphasize her point. Gibbs winced. She really didn't know her own strength when she was riding adrenaline. "Please, what'll he think if I don't-"

"Abby, I can guarantee that he will not be conscious after surgery. The amount of damage that was done… " Gibbs hated using this leverage against her, knowing that it physically hurt her to know her friend was so injured. "He'll be sleeping until tomorrow morning, at the very, very least. Now if we don't let them know that we're running this show, you know they'll cut us out of the investigation. Abby, you need to be powerful, but you need to be under control, too. Can you do that?"

Abby almost got mad but realized it would only mark against her. She gave an attempt to smile, though it looked somewhat like a grimace. "You underestimate me, Jethro. That crime scene is ours. I'll call some agents in to help me take care of the evidence but-" She fixed him in that stare again. "Once everyone knows NCIS is in charge of the investigation, I'm coming right back here."

Smiling, Gibbs hugged her again. "I know you will, Abby. Be careful." Abby's smile became softer, more real.

"I promise. And Gibbs? When he gets out of surgery… I know he won't be awake, but tell him… " She paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Tell him to never worry me like that again… And that I'll be right there when he wakes up."

"I will." There was a lull as they held each other for a heartbeat, then Gibbs pulled away and said briskly, "Now make me proud, Abby."

She saluted- with the wrong hand- and said, "Yes, sir!" Gibbs watched as she marched out, bristling with responsibility. Then, after retrieving his jacket and laying it on a chair in the waiting room, he went off to the front desk. He needed to know where they got their coffee in this place.

Three hours later, an exhausted man in blue scrubs exited the restricted OR hallway and found Tony dozing in the waiting room, while Gibbs stared into the distance beside him.

"Excuse me, are you the family of Agent McGee?" the surgeon asked. Gibbs stood up as Tony jerked awake.

"Yes, we are," Gibbs replied evenly. If it got him answers faster, then yes, they were family. "Can you tell us how Tim's doing?"

The surgeon, looking at the two men and wondering how they could possibly be related to the patient, replied, "Actually, I was looking for one of the investigators. I have the slug bagged-"

Tony smiled with his slick charm and said, "Ah, that would also be me." He dug around for his badge then flashed it to the skeptical doctor. "Cousins. I kinda got him into the business, so to speak." The surgeon glanced at Gibbs, who nodded in support of Tony's story.

"I always knew it was dangerous work, but-" Gibbs choked off, playing a surprisingly good anxious father/uncle. At least, it was convincing enough for this guy. The surgeon passed the bag and a clipboard to Tony, which Tony signed for and pocketed. Gibbs watched the exchange with a worried expression, looking the displaced father figure perfectly. "Now, can you tell us… ?"

"Certainly. You may want to be sitting for this." The surgeon pulled a chair up as Tony and Gibbs sat down. "My name is Dr. Clark. I was the leading surgeon on Timothy's emergency operation. Our first priority was to stop the bleeding, so there wasn't much repair work that I could do at first. After a transfusion however, I was able to begin taking stock of the damage." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long, delicate surgery.

"The bullet entered below the ribcage and did considerable damage to the liver, stomach and the surrounding soft tissue. It bounced off a lower rib and lodged inside the back of a higher rib, fracturing both. For now, we'll keep him as still as possible but we'll need to realign the bone as soon as possible, probably early in the morning. The organ damage, however, is less prospective. Even with the regeneration rate of the liver and stomach, there's an extremely high chance of infection. Coupled with the shock of the blood loss, it'll be a close call."

Tony blew out a tight breath. "And his tongue?"

"We put some sutures on the wound and it should begin healing soon. We'll have to keep the area clean, but the tongue is one of the fastest healing parts of the body. I'd say he could be talking again as soon as next week."

"What are his chances?" Gibbs spoke with a steady chill in his voice, almost as if he had to turn off his emotions in order to even look at the raw truth.

"In layman's terms, he has a 75 percent chance of coming out of this without any complications. His chances with complications… Well, let's not think too much about that. Considering all the factors, he's a very lucky man. A few inches to the right, and it would've hit his spinal column. A few inches up, and it would've gone straight through his heart."

Gibbs blood went cold. He'd had the hunch before, but knew for sure now. Those odds were too close, too coincidental. For some reason, he felt like it wasn't quite an attempted murder. The malevolence was there, but the intention just didn't seem to be death.

It was more like tormenting, punishing. It was a message by torture.

* * *

**ack this chapter was long D: plz review! they fuel update, did you know? XD**


	4. Tracing Footsteps

**Ooh, you guys are gonna be blown out the water next chappie! But this one's good too, I love working with Abby's char. Please read and review, my dear readers!**

**Again, here's mah shout out! **

**_starjems88, lime juize, Dumbledore's Emerald Phoenix, pippy93, Moonstruck Chocolat, amdelodder, OhSoSinister., harrylover101, diana teo, polarpi, addy, smartkid37, meffie, Ataxian girl, Crazy4YuYuHakusho, updatenow, MySupermanJoeDJDangaa, thian, FairELF, Kamali Shen, musicgurl21284, Purple Feather 1, spannsa, WannabeAuthor2545, buckyboo, calindsay, Carter rules, CrazyWoman200253204, GooooodPie, HarrySirius Fan, Homicidal Leprechaun, mlmccrayx2, Precious Pup, smartkid37, Smiley1488, smilingT12, __Mint Julep-Mojito, __TLWalcher_, Mwhahahaha18, babygirl12020, poptarts-and-pepsi,** ******and, last but not least, _She-Elf4._  
**

**Summary**: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface- secrets that want him dead. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

_Thinking._

(Author's notes within story.)

* * *

_Chapter Four: Tracing Footsteps_

Abby was caught up in directing work at the crime scene and she would be there for another hour at least. It was the first time she had actually been able to do the initial examination of evidence and it was a lot harder than she imagined. Her sharp eye, however, was finding clues that were the beginnings of their case against this attacker, and she had a small army of sleepy agents under her Gibbs-given command.

Under the huge, portable industrial lights, the final point of the crime scene- where Timothy had been shot- looked fake. The blood was everywhere. There were handprints of it on the wall. Abby felt sick, but the last thing she was going to do was compromise a crime scene by vomiting. She raised her camera and took several shots.

Already, her mind was filling in the blanks. "He was dragged, against his will," she said to herself, eyes following a distinct trail of footsteps in the dirt that almost went sideways. She called someone over, motioning them to stay off the path. "Get some pictures of this." She had to explain what they were looking for, but afterwards they seemed impressed.

"I never would've seen that," he said before crouching down with a camera.

Abby gave a strained smile at the compliment. This was awful. She needed to be at the hospital. But, now that she'd seen the crime scene and noticed that she noticed things that other people didn't notice, it was her responsibility to stay. She turned back the end point.

Abby took a picture of two small round spots in the dirt, just before the black stain of blood. Images flashed in her mind's eye. "He dragged him here, already cut somewhere and bleeding-" the trail led right into the puddle- "and pushed him onto his knees."

She took a step back and pretended to fire down from about where the man would've been standing. "Bang. He fell over, but he got interrupted." She turned around to look where Gibbs and Ziva would have approached from. "And then he ran." She looked at the impossibly huge blood stain and her voice became strained. "And got away."

"Sciuto? Uh, Ms. Sciuto?"

Abby turned around to see a smaller man carrying an armful of evidence bags. "Abby. You can just say Abby." He balked, seeing her tear tracks and immediately wanting to escape the conversation.

"Ah, all right. How-how do you want me to put these in the van?"

Sighing, Abby shook out her dark thoughts and walked back with the man. She opened the back doors of the NCIS vehicle. "See these boxes? This one's for the back door area, this one's for the first half of the path, this one the second half, this one the end point, and this one- for the path the attacker took after that." That particular box was almost completely empty, save for the camera that had taken pictures of that area. She stared at it, obviously displeased by the lack of material, then turned to the man.

"Here, I'll take care of this, you go down the getaway path and look for any security cameras, ATMs or anything else that could've taken footage or pictures of him running away." It _was _the next logical step. Hopefully, they'd get lucky. He passed her the bags and walked off. Abby laid them on the van floor and leaned on the back bumper. All she wanted was to ho the hospital and sit next to Tim until he woke up. She felt a twist of anger at Gibbs. Was that really too much to ask for?

She picked up two evidence bags from the back door box. In them were Timothy's earpiece, which had been utterly smashed, and his mouthpiece, which had survived a few more feet before being snapped in two. The attacker had attempted to cut off communication by crushing the tiny speaker, then throwing its microphonic partner. Timothy had already been stabbed and separated from his gun, but he'd apparently dived after the mouthpiece.

Pressing the two halves together, with a technological ability only he possessed, he restored it to a usable a state long enough to send the alarm. Then the attacker had stomped it and his hand, breaking two fingers and the mouthpiece for good. Then the dragging had begun, the kneeling, the tongue-cutting, the gunshot… All in about seven minutes.

Abby, of course, wasn't aware of all this. She could only know what the evidence told her and all this was not being revealed. The only story it told was hardly a summary- that there'd been a bloody, one-sided fight and a communication device had been destroyed in the process. _You have to wake up, Tim_, she prayed. _You angels better be watching him. Without his testimony, we might never know what actually happened back here_.

Two and a half hours later, Abby was being dropped of at the hospital by an evidence van. She was exhausted, but she swore to stay awake until she was sure Timmy was okay. As she trudged through the front doors, now sporting a NCIS hat and jacket over her night gown, she was surprised by a hand patting her shoulder.

"Rough night?" It was Ziva, arriving for her shift. "What did Gibbs have you do?"

Abby felt a habitual surge of distrust, but she consciously repressed the misinformed instinct. She knew by now that she could trust Ziva. "Take charge of the crime scene. I ended up staying for the whole initial evidence collection. What're you doing?"

"Reporting for guard duty," Ziva replied with a supportive but equally tired smile. It had been a stressful five hours, to say the least. She was surprised, though, when Abby hooked her arm in her arm and walked her to the OR waiting room. It was an unexpectedly intimate gesture and Ziva was both outwardly embarrassed and inwardly pleased by how far her and Abby's friendship had come.

Gibbs was apparently dozing while Tony stared at the newspaper in his hands. He didn't have the focus to read anything at the moment but it was nice to have something in his hands. He looked up as the two women approached. Gibbs opened one eye, knew that Tony would be able to explain the situation, and went back into his tense half-sleep.

"Hey, Abby. Hey, Ziva." He set the paper aside as they sat beside him and said before Abby could ask, "No, I don't know when they let visitors in ICU." Abby deflated at that.

"Well, what did they say? The doctors, about Tim's… you know, chances." Abby clutched her NCIS hat in her hands. She didn't know if she was ready for the answer.

"One in four that things could go south. If all goes well, though, he could be talking in a week."

"A week?!" Abby said furiously. "That attacker could be long gone by then." She sat back and crossed her arms huffily, but in the lull her eyelids began to droop. Ziva turned to Tony.

"Okay, Dinozzo, you may go home now," Ziva said. "If you are going to be any use on this watch, then you need rest as much as anyone else."

Tony stood up and stretched his arms up over his head, his spine making a few sharp clicks. "Ooh, I gotta not sit for three hours like that again. Seeya, Boss."

"Get a hold of Vance. I want that watch detail to be here at six," Gibbs said without opening his eyes. "Like Ziva said, we all need some rest." Tony mumbled an affirmative reply and walked out.

In a few hours, the surgeons brought Timothy back to the OR and set his broken ribs. It was a fairly quick procedure in comparison, though just as delicate.

Abby, on the verge of deep sleep, jumped up as they wheeled him past once more and muscled her way into getting a few minutes with her fallen friend in the ICU room, despite the fact he'd just come out of his second surgery and would not be awake anytime soon. She waved to Ziva and Gibbs and followed the doctors to where Timothy would be spending the next few days.

She considered pulling up a chair, but decided that she didn't have the time. She just stood by the wheeled bed and looked down on his sleeping form for a moment. Wires and tubes sprawled across his exposed skin, keeping him sleeping easy. He was a sickly pale color, and she could see the stab wound stitched up on his shoulder just beyond the neck of his patient gown. The first two fingers on his left hand were wrapped tightly, set so that the broken bones could heal. She stifled the sob growing in her throat.

"Geez, McGee, you look awful." She eased into a sitting position on the bed and brushed some hair out of his face. His eyes were flickering behind their lids. "Now, when you get up, you gotta tell us every little detail of what happened, okay? We're gonna catch this guy." She looked back to his face to see if there was any reaction. He remained still, except for those darting eyes.

Abby sighed and stood up. "I hope that's a good dream you're having, Tim. I'll be here when you get up, okay?" She gave him a kiss on the forehead and walked out.

Timothy hadn't heard a word she said. He was trapped in a nightmare, helpless to wake up with the sedatives holding his body down. He twitched underneath its grip, trying to escape a situation that ended the same way no matter how many times he went through it.

"_You're hurting me!" The world spun. _

"_Shut up. Stop moving."_

_Anger and fear rose in his gut but his words slurred as he spoke. "I s-said lea' me alone!"_

_Smack! "Shut up!" _

"_No. No!-"_

Fortunately, the likelihood of him even remembering those dreams when he woke were slim to none. Release from sleep would come soon enough, but then he would have to face a new nightmare- reality.

* * *

**Ack, these cheesy endings are getting on my nerves. Well, the nightmare _starts _next chapter so you guys won't get another one of these sad cliffie attemtps XD**


	5. Hinky

**Really, anyone could be paired with Tim at the moment. Seriously. ANYONE. If you have a preference, tell me now, because I like canon (McAbby) but I'll do anything, for anyone (slash, femslash included). Every character needs a pairing- tell me what you want.**

**Summary**: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface- secrets that want him dead. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

_Thinking._

(Author's notes within story.)

* * *

_Chapter Five: Hinky_

Abby was just walking out when a sound made her heart stop. She looked back and realized Timothy was waking up. At first, she was elated, but then it was quickly replaced in panic. _He can't be waking up- not now! Something could- go wrong, or something!_

Timothy groaned. He wasn't just hungry, thirsty and stiff- he had the worst stomachache he'd had in his life. Well, maybe not his stomach. His brow knitted as he tried to place the feeling in his hazy mind. It was above his stomach. It was his chest, his gut, his lungs, his- his everything. It felt like, like-

Like someone had shot him in the chest.

His eyes opened at that, just barely. The effort it required was insanity. The tube in his throat was driving him mad as well. Even with the terror of his slowly-returning memories riding him, the only thing he could think about was the tube- _Get it out, get it out, get it out!_ Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his breath came fast and his eyes rolled, taking in the unnaturally white room.

Abby ran to the doorway and yelled, "Dr. Clark! He's waking up!"

Normally, such a declaration would be cause for celebration and relief, but the tone in her voice made them all leap up in panic. An edge entered the medical professional's eye and he rushed in, calling over a couple of nurses.

Timothy tried to understand what was going on. Abby was standing over him, tearstained and being pulled back by a scrubs-clad man.

"Timmy!" she cried out in relief. "Oh, my god, you had me so scared! Don't you ever do that again, you hear me? Ever!" She was sobbing and furious but the look in her eyes made Timothy's gut twist.

_I'm sorry_, he tried to say but the words didn't leave his mouth formed- just indistinct sounds muffled under a plastic tube. His already troubled brow grew more wrinkled. Where was his tongue? If it was in his mouth, he certainly couldn't feel it. It was like that time he'd gone to the dentist and she'd shot his tongue with numbing solution instead of his gums by accident. So then why was his tongue-?

The flow of memories was steady and disturbing. _No, _Timothy thought to himself as he began to shake. _No! _Footsteps. A gun pointed at him. Someone shoving a knife in his face, his mouth in agony. A face… a face he knew.

_What did he do to me? _Timothy tried to say. Panic made him struggle against his IV and the other various wires attached to his exposed skin like a twisted nightmare of a spider's web. The words still wouldn't come out and it only made things worse. While Abby spoke from afar, a doctor moved and pumped a sedative into him. _What did he do…_

Abby let Gibbs pull her away and cried against him. "Oh, Gibbs, it's awful. I can't believe this! It's always one of you, _always_, and I can't do anything about it! McGee… " She twisted her NCIS cap in her hands and wiped her arm across her face. The black tracks from her make-up smeared. Gibbs steered her out of the room as Ziva followed them out. Tony, who hadn't even left the building yet, was waiting just outside the room.

The OR doctor spoke to Gibbs once Abby was together enough to be let go. The surgeon sighed, looking flustered. "I-I've never seen someone come so quickly out of sedation. I would've given him another hour at least before he was even able to open his eyes. But, I suppose this sort of strange occurrence is to be expected, considering the nature of the attack." He looked up at Tony. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but I hope you catch the bastard. This is one of the most vicious cases I've had all year."

Gibbs stepped forward, undeterred. "And the setting? How'd it go?"

"Fine, fine. Almost a textbook procedure, really- which is a good thing. No complications."

Abby, still shaken, spoke up. "Will-will we be able to visit when he wakes up?"

The doctor made a mental assessment, mouth quirking up as he thought. "Hmm, we'll have to see how he's doing. If he has a reaction like that again, we may need to get a specialist from the psych wing." Seeing their discontented reactions, he went on. "Can't be too careful."

With that, the doctor left to attend to his duties, leaving the NCIS team quiet and stunned in the OR waiting room.

Tony looked around. "What happened?"

"He woke up." Abby looked back at the room dejectedly. "And flipped out." Silence settled like a suffocating blanket.

Gibbs patted Tony's shoulder. "Go home. Call Vance." Tony looked up, and the dark circles and even darker look in their eyes could've been a reflection in a mirror. "He'll be fine."

Ziva looked away. Again, it was a private moment and she felt it was outside her realm to appreciate it. Why, then, did she have this twist of envy? She had finally invested herself in a team, in fellow _humans_, with a loyalty that went beyond simple, unquestionable commitment to the mission. It was dangerous, and it went against her training. Timothy could be just another lost partner, and she could go on. Just another lost partner…

"Gibbs, may I speak to you for a moment?" Ziva stared through her fear, her uncertainty. Gibbs took one look at her and sent Tony off.

"Hey, if that detail is one minute late, it's on you," Gibbs called after Tony. "Abby, go home, too. Get some sleep. They're going to need you to help process that evidence later." Abby nodded and hugged him goodbye, then caught up to Tony.

"Call me when he wakes up!" she called over her shoulder, exhausted. That evidence was still fresh in her head, and Timothy's panicked eyes wouldn't stop haunting her. She wouldn't be getting much sleep, but she needed her mind to be fresh when she got to NCIS HQ in a few hours.

Then it was just Gibbs and Ziva. "Yeah, Ziva?"

Ziva changed her stance and looked off to the side. "If, uh, if McGee does not… does not come out of this okay, he will be replaced?" _That sounded callous,_ Ziva thought to herself. _I do not mean to sound that way. Why do my words go against me?_

Despite her anxiety however, Gibbs saw the question in her eyes. "Yes Ziva, he probably would." Ziva looked away again. "But that isn't going to happen. McGee's gonna be fine. Hey, look at me." She gave him a carefully calculated look, cold, not nonchalant but not real open to comfort either. It was like reaching out to an iceberg, but Gibbs patted her shoulder anyway. "I know it's hard. It's okay."

The moment hung there for a moment, and Ziva knew that in that moment she could either accept Gibbs' unspoken offer of a hug or refuse it. She wanted to accept it, she really did. That comfort would be appreciated now. But she couldn't.

"Thank you, Gibbs," Ziva said and took a step away. She wasn't ready to let him, or anyone, in. Gibbs couldn't completely hide that fleeting flash of disappointment in his eyes, and her gut twisted at it. He needed his people to grow, but Ziva couldn't. Not yet. "I'm going to do a patrol and take a look at the layout. I should be back in twenty minutes."

"All right." He watched her go, then walked into Timothy's darkened room. The hum of machinery and the beep of a heart monitor were all too familiar to the older agent. "Hey there, McGee."

Pulling up a chair, Gibbs sat beside the bed silently. He looked at the bandages, the wires, eyes trailing up till he saw a flicker at his eyes. Timothy was waking up- again. Instead of freaking out, Gibbs simply stood up and looked down into his eyes.

"Want me to take this out?" The doctor had said once Timothy was awake, they could remove the breathing tube, and Gibbs remembered what it was like to have one of those. Timothy gave one long blink, and Gibbs peeled the tiny strips of medical tape back and gripped it. "Ready?" Timothy blinked once. Gibbs gave a firm, steady pull and it, though resistant, slid out as Timothy gagged.

"There," Gibbs sighed as Timothy coughed and swallowed. He looked at his leader desperately. "I'll get you some water." But that seemed to bother him even more, as he managed to shake his head and reach out with his right hand. _Please don't, _Timothy thought. _Don't leave me alone. _"All right, all right, shh, I'll call Ziva."

He dialed the number, and she answered before the first ring finished. "Yes, Gibbs."

"I need you to get your hands on some water and bring it now. I'd get it but he doesn't want me to leave the room."

Immediately, Ziva's instincts told her something could be wrong. "He as in the attacker?"

"No, he as in McGee. How quickly can you get here?"

"Three minutes at the most."

"Good." Gibbs hung up and looked back to Timothy, who was staring miserably at the ceiling. "Tim?" That broke his reverie. He gave Gibbs a surprised, but pained, look. "I'm going to get you something to write with, and I'm gonna ask you a few questions."

For a moment, a blank look of fear fell across Timothy's face, then, almost apologetically, he raised his dominant hand. The one with the broken fingers.

"Well, you'll just have to use your right. It'll still probably look better than Dinozzo's writing with his good hand." The attempt at humor did nothing to quell Timothy's worry. He just shook his head. Gibbs' gut told him something else was going on. He sat on the bed beside his wounded agent.

"McGee, you need to tell us what happened." He let his hand rest on Timothy's. "Whoever did this can't hurt you now." Timothy gave him an almost withering look of agony that said, _You have no idea._ "Do you know who did this?" Timothy shook his head immediately. Gibbs sighed. "Do you remember what happened?" Timothy nodded, then jerked and changed his answer to no, but it was more a refusal to continue than an response to the question.

Gibbs leaned in closer, eyes burning. "You can tell me this. You're one of my people. I don't want to say it, but seeing you here does more than bother me. It makes me mad. It hurts." He went to a whisper and glanced away. "Tim, we almost lost you. Someone attacked you and tortured you and is forcing you to keep quiet, and not just because of that tongue. Someone targeted you, Tim. Please-" Timothy's eyes widened at that. "Let me help you."

For a moment, it looked as if Timothy was about to give in, but as Ziva walked in the door, he shook his head, _No._ Gibbs turned with misdirected anger to her and she took a step back.

Ziva recoiled from the fury in Gibbs' expression. What had she done? But just as quickly, the anger left him and he stood up to meet her. "Here is the water," Ziva said, subdued. He reached for it, but she went on. "May I… ?" She motioned to Timothy and Gibbs shrugged, letting her go by. Though he was itching for that information, he knew when to leave to people alone. He closed the door behind him.

* * *

**I'd like to advertise my other story here, also McGee-centric. It's fantasy but with just as much McGee torture later on in the story. Very strange indeed. (go to my profile to find it, plz?)**


	6. Ordained Recalcitrance

**Hereitissorryforthetyposinahurrygottago!pleasereadandreview!!!!iluvvsuguys! EDIT: thanks for the 'jethro' and ducky comment! fixed that.  
**

**Summary**: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface- secrets that want him dead. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

_Thinking._

(Author's notes within story.)

_

* * *

Chapter Six: Ordained Recalcitrance _

Ziva held the cup to Timothy's lips and let him sip slowly. The look of relief on his face gave her a bittersweet smile. Knowing he felt better made her happy, but the condition he was in that made him unable to help himself made her burn with anger. She set the cup aside once it was drained and sat beside the bed in the rather unused chair. Timothy made no attempt to communicate,and Ziva remained silent for a long time.

Finally, after an extended moment of unsure quiet, Ziva leaned forward and laid a hand on Timothy's shoulder. He looked up and was surprised by the twisted, tearful look of grief, and he had to listen hard to what her words might've been: "I-I do not know how I would have gotten past losing you, my friend, Tim. I do not think I could have." She leaned in and gave him a little kiss on his forehead. "I want you to not feel such inner and outer pain. Sleep well."

She left as quickly as she came, and Timothy felt tears burn in his eyes. He had no idea that Ziva was so fond of him. And in the doorway, Gibbs waited. He wouldn't try to get the information again so soon. Timothy did need his sleep. But eventually, from his own lips or hands, the wounded agent would have to tell him what happened in that alley.

When the security detail arrived, the agents went back to NCIS HQ and waited for the buildings to wake up. It was true that at all times something was running at NCIS and someone somewhere was working but the bullpen didn't 'open' until seven. For now, Ziva dozed at her desk while Gibbs silently sat back and thought over the infinite things he thought about.

Just before seven, Abby entered her lab and found the boxes of evidence waiting for her. Within them were photos, bullets, bloody clothes and other items lifted at the crime scene. She stared at the seemingly innocent banker's boxes and felt a churning of emotion, but she took a deep breath and released those feelings. A shaking hand could ruin a test and eliminate valuable evidence. She went to those boxes, found the one labeled 'T. McGee- personal effects' and began laying out the items.

A black NCIS jacket, a pair of dark pants and a button up shirt. A white undershirt and underclothes. A pair of dark, high-quality shoes. All stained with blood. A cell phone and smashed communicator components. A wallet with over 700 dollars in it and several credit cards, completely untouched by the attacker.

It would take a while to process the physical evidence. Since Timothy had been in a fight, there could be some trace of his assailant on his clothes. One hair, one drop of sweat, one partial fingerprint- it was all Abby needed to find this son of a bitch and when she did, nothing would stand in the agents' ways of taking him- or maybe her, one never knew these days, as Tony would attest to- down.

Twelve after seven, Tony strode into the bullpen, tall and strong, but his eyes were dark. He had shaved and showered and put on clean clothes but somehow retained an air of unkemptness that declared an unrested body and soul.

Gibbs barely glanced up at his clean-shaven senior agent and said, "I thought I told you get some sleep."

"I-I did, boss," Tony replied, blinking, then his expression fell even more. "I got plenty of sleep." What painful dreams from the night Tony had playing behind his eyes, Gibbs could not imagine, but if anyone understood that feeling of torture, it was him.

"I know, Tony." Gibbs waited for him to look up and, in the early morning quiet of the bullpen, they exchanged a silent look of understanding. "C'mon, we got work to do. Tony, pull up all of McGee's recent credit activity and phone record and take a look at his personal effects here and on his computer. Ziva, wake-"

Her eyes snapped open. "I was not sleeping."

Gibbs repressed a smile. "I want you to come with me to see Abby and get the videos and pictures to process up here."

"On it, boss!" Tony said, curiosity piqued. He'd sifted through Timothy's stuff a couple times before, and he always found something interesting. Now he could do it legitimately. He was nose deep in his co-worker's desk drawer as Ziva and Gibbs headed for the elevator.

Ziva was hard pressed to find a situation that made her feel awkward, but that elevator ride was definitely in the top five. It was right up there with that time on her third trip to France when that young husband had caught her in bed with his wife. And that other time when she had double-crossed a double-crossing agent who had been working with a double-crosser- in simple terms, it had ended in a very bizarre stand off where she had somehow ended up on the wrong team.

Before she could work up the courage and then speak a carefully prepared explanation for herself, they reached Abby's floor and Gibbs strode out into the hallway, seemingly oblivious to her internal conflict. She sighed and shook her head, following her team leader to the forensic scientist's lab.

Abby look up from her tedious work and, on a normal person, the lack of dark rings around the eyes would've been good, but on Abby it meant she hadn't had the effort to make-up herself properly. She managed a weakly wry smile.

"Gibbsy, I've told you once, I've told you a million times. I'm good, but-"

"_I_ think you're that good," Gibbs said and gave her a quick hug. "Got anything? Ziva needs the photos and tapes, and I need something to work off of."

Abby set the clothes and dirt samples aside and nodded. "I've got just what you need, Ziva." She sifted through a banker's box and removed one or two items, then passed the whole box to Ziva. "These are all the security, ATM and cell phone recordings from bystanders _and _all the pics from our cameras. Have fun. And for you, Gibbs, I lifted a print from the earpiece but it's pretty fragmented. I have a few more places I think I'll check, but I can't make any guarantees on that first one. After that, I'll run the ballistics on this-" She rattled the twisted bullet in its little glass container. "-and hopefully, we'll be able to trace it. It looks like it's in pretty good shape f-for such a close shot." Her voice shook and she swallowed. Gotta push that emotion down, gotta bring it all in-

Gibbs squeezed her shoulder. "You're doing great. I'll go help Ziva and Dinozzo, you call me if you get anything."

Abby nodded and watched them go. She didn't tell them what she was going to check and reluctance made her do the preliminaries on the bullet first, but eventually she got back to her original object of interest. Elastic, though stretching and re-stretching eventually degraded prints beyond use, typically held them for a while if not handled too much, and the ridges often caught minute organic traces like skin or sweat. The medical report for Timothy had detailed no sexual assault, but with the boxers in such pristine condition, and with the particular viciousness of the attack, maybe he'd gotten interrupted.

She opened to top of the clear box where superheated super glue would reveal any fingerprints and placed the dark underclothes within, then prayed that she wouldn't find anything. She didn't know what she would do if she knew Timothy had come so close to being hurt so bad.

Upstairs, Ziva was watching security recordings from across the street from the alley with Gibbs as Tony had moved onto Timothy's personal records. Every now and then, one of them would speak up, but usually it was an immediate dead lead.

"It could be another crazy fan," Tony said with an almost hopeless tone as he leafed through pages.

"His publisher said that they have not received any suspicious letters since those that she fabricated," Ziva reminded him.

Tony flipped to the next page. "Nothing suspicious on these phone records."

"That garbage guy was in the alley for a while," Gibbs noted quietly to himself as he rewound and replayed, but the trash collector had just picked up a particularly difficult-to-hold bundle.

They went on in silence for a while, examining the evidence. Ziva moved onto photos. Tony went on to Timothy's impressively small criminal record.

"Jethro!" a familiar voice called out from the elevator as the doors slid open. All three agents looked up to see Ducky's somber face as he unbundled himself from his long coat. "Please tell me how our young Timothy is doing. I'm afraid I was out for most of the night after that prescription cough medicine I took." Gibbs stood up and wrapped an arm over the older man's shoulders.

"It's bad, Duck," the team leader said. They walked down the hallway as Ziva and Tony stared after them. For once, Gibbs' emotional armor was almost useless. Ducky was much too wise for his tricks and smooth talking to fool him. "Tim was targeted, brutally attacked and shot. They think he's becoming stable, but… Someone came after him, Duck." Gibbs' eyes burned with frustration and self-loathing. There may not have been much that Gibbs could've done to protect his youngest agent, but Timothy was still his agent, and it was his job to make sure the team came through okay- and he had failed miserably.

Ducky nodded gravely, patting Gibbs' shoulder with a grasp of strength that belied his older body. "Timothy is a good lad, a strong lad. If he's made it this far, I highly doubt he will give up now." Ducky stared with his analytical mind into the field agent's eyes and added, "And there was nothing you could've done differently. You know what is best for your friends."

"Boss!" Tony suddenly said. "Check this out- it's weird."

Immediately, Gibbs' demeanor changed, and he nodded bye to Ducky and rejoined his team.. "You know I don't like weird, Dinozzo."

Tony was standing by his desk, so impelled by his discovery that he could no longer remain sitting. Open on his desk was a manila folder containing an assault report- from 1995.

"Look at this- apparently, McGee filed an assault charge against someone when he was 16, but the description, the name, the time and place- it's all blacked out. The only thing it really says is that all charges were dropped a few days later, and look at this box checked- the second word is scribbled out but the first word isn't." Ziva and Gibbs leaned forward to see the mysterious document. Tony looked up with a scowl. "It's 'nonconsensual'. The first word is 'nonconsensual'. I don't like how this looks, boss."

Suddenly, the phone on Gibbs desk started ringing. The leader glanced at the light on the base- the call was from forensics. He put it on speaker. "Whacha got, Abs?"

"You're not gonna like this, Gibbs," Abby said immediately, her voice quiet and pained. "But I lifted a pointer finger and thumb print from the waistband of Timmy's boxers, and the guy whose prints they belong came from a sex offender database, but AFIS blocked the search once it got that far."

The agents' bloods ran cold. Things had suddenly gotten much, _much _worse.

* * *

**so there! gasp! updating on sunday i swear!! well, i'm as long as i get reviews ;3 -shamelessprodforreviews-**


	7. Lies and Pain, Lies and Pain, Truth

**I'M SO SORRY! Honest to god, i REALLY was gonna update on sunday, which was only an hour and a half ago, I was just planning on it to be in the evening cuz I was gonna write the chapters in the morning TT^TT BUT! i forgot I was going out of town today (er, yesterday technically) to see my grandmother who recently fell ill!! I betrayed the reader's trust! Shame on me! D'': will you ever forgive me? I'd promise to update on tuesday but you might just be offended cause i'm now a known promise-breaker... And on asidenote, who here would be offended by a slash pairing? tony/tim is showing some real promise...  
**

**Summary**: During an in-town operation, McGee is viciously attacked, and long buried secrets from his past begin to resurface- secrets that want him dead. How far will McGee go to save his job, his friends and himself before it kills him? includes blood, swearing, bi/slash moments, and abuse

**Rating**: It's dark and violent, later with implied abuse but nothing M- so T.

**Pairings**: None so far! It's up for suggestion ;3

Regular text.

"Speaking."

_Thinking._

(Author's notes within story.)

* * *

_Chapter Seven: Lies and Pain, Lies and Pain, Truth_

Timothy was sleeping lightly when a sound at the door startled him. His eyes snapped open. No sedative to weigh them- only local anesthetic for the particularly nasty wounds.

It was late afternoon, a orangey sun nearly dying on the horizon, burning the treetops. Within the hospital, in Timothy's ICU room, however, the sky could not be seen. The day had flown past him, perhaps because his night had been so long. Terrible, shameful memories had been resurrected by terror and, of course, hate, and it had drained him.

Two sides of him that his new friends never saw- one careless, one vicious- had reared up in him after years of repression. It had been a physically and emotional trying night. The following day had been but a semblance of restful.

"Tim." That's was Gibbs' voice, and it was laced with understanding and almost awe, which was confusing.

_He knows_, Timothy thought in despair, wanting to disappear forever. _He knows, he knows, he knows… _He thought he could be free of that one night, but that would've been too much to ask. That one stupid night would haunt him forever.

"Tim, we think we know what happened," Gibbs said softly. He had never expected one of his agents to be so hurt, and imagining the one who caused the damage to have gotten so close again made him furious. Timothy was such a sensitive kid, so closed off from the bad things, so sympathetic. But Gibbs knew it wasn't that anymore- it was because Timothy _did_ know those dark things. That he didn't just have the ability to imagine what it was like, he _knew_ what it was like.

_He knows, and they know, and they'll never look at me the same way again_, Timothy thought and, surprisingly, he was angry. Sure, he was heartbroken that the ones that had become so close to him would now always look at him with pity, but he was also indignant. They didn't have the right to go snooping around in his past. It was his past, his pain. _Why couldn't they just leave it alone? Leave _me _alone? _Even as he thought it though, the notion of him being abandoned was far worse than being pitied.

"I can't possibly imagine what it's been like for the past fifteen years, keeping silent." Gibbs paused, and the silence leaned for his next words. He could see Timothy agonized by his leader's knowledge and, even though the young agent didn't know it, he wanted some reason to know that it was okay. It was okay to not be alone. "You're a stronger man than I, Tim."

Timothy looked up. What a strange thing to say. Timothy knew for sure that Gibbs was a mountain of resolve and himself more like a Jell-O blob. Gibbs had lost something. By listening to scraps of conversation and his own developing gut feelings, Timothy had always thought it had been his family. Timothy had never lost his family- a wife, a son or daughter. That took strength. What happened to him, that didn't take strength. Only weakness.

Gibbs moved into his line of sight, standing over him by the bed as he stared at the ceiling. The expression on his face was a mix of respect and protectiveness. Timothy couldn't bear to look at him, knowing, just _knowing_, that that face had to fake. It hurt too much think that Gibbs had lost both respect and the urge to care for him in one fell swoop. Timothy turned his head away.

"You wouldn't come to us, to _me_, for your sister, because you didn't trust us then. But surely you know now that in this team we're not just coworkers," Gibbs said, brow knitted. Timothy felt a lick of regret. He knew _that_, but this situation was completely different…

Treading unfamiliar ground, Gibbs considered just laying a hand on Timothy's arm, just one reassuring touch, and wondered what touch meant to the younger man. What feelings did he associate with it? Comfort, closeness? Or fear and betrayal? Was that why he was so reluctant in social situations? Gibbs hoped his reactions depended on who it was involved in the interaction and put his fingers at Timothy's wrist.

Timothy turned to look at him slowly, and Gibbs almost recoiled at the contradiction and ferocity of emotion in those eyes. Hate, for him to intrude on his life. Hate, for the man who caused him all this agony. Pain, for exposing the wounds he'd covered so well for so long. And a tentative flicker of perhaps hope, that, maybe, he could trust his friends to help him nurse those wounds to true healing. Maybe.

"You can trust me, Tim," Gibbs pressed.

It was almost a challenge once someone was established in his life that Gibbs knew there was mutual trust. He was always genuine with people, always truthful. People knew that they couldn't fool around with him. Good people rose to this challenge of truth and embraced it, and bad people ran or hid from a thing they couldn't or wouldn't understand.

There was no response for moment, then Timothy shook his head _No._ He couldn't trust anyone, in this world where people took advantage of him, where loved ones could become enemies, where people he thought were friends walked out on him with looks of disgust. No one could be trusted, no could be let in, no one, no one, no one-

"Shh, shh, it's okay, shh… " Gibbs kneeled by the bed, one hand on the young man's arm, the other resting lightly near his head, brushing the hair out of his face. Tears broke from under Timothy's armor and streamed down his face as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. His voice wanted to say no, to keep Gibbs and everyone out, but he welcomed the comforting voice and presence. Maybe someone could understand. Maybe someone could know all sides of him, no matter the anger or shame or pain, and still want to be near him. Maybe…

Soon enough, Timothy sank into a deep, exhausted sleep. He'd spent most of the day resting his body but now he was resting his soul. Finally, finally, a small shard of the pain had been melted and shed. Gibbs stood up slowly, gritting at his older body's complaints, and sighed. He was tired too. When had he slept? Maybe he'd caught a few moments of dozing in the waiting room, in the office, but that was far from rest. Dinozzo was already getting on his case. Can't afford to have two incapacitated agents and all that.

Not too mention the mental and emotional drain. Gibbs nodded at the two guards outside the room who had kept polite distance at the private moment and got out his cell phone as he walked out of the hospital. His agent, his team, his people- they were his duty as much as his job was. Protect, teach and work with them- somehow he'd managed to fail in all three in one night.

"Abby, any luck on that block?" Gibbs said once she answered.

She sounded downright annoyed, and she vented to him. "No, they got me running red tape circles. Whoever blocked this guy's info is high up. Can't you call in some favors, Gibbs? Or maybe just bust into the main office and demand the information. I personally think they'd give it to you, you're just that scary-"

"I'm on it, Abby," Gibbs said with a shadow of a smile on his lips. It was the small things that mattered with her, like giving a five-page answer to a simple hows-it-going. "Go back to the evidence- no use trying to get through the bureaucracy by traditional means."

"What do you-" but Gibbs had already hung up. He had an old friend to visit, in a park with a bench.

Friend was a loose term.

Meanwhile, Tony was at Sarah McGee's new apartment, where the younger sister of the injured agent sat in a deadened stillness on her couch. Her eyes were red from crying. She'd gone to visit her big brother earlier that day, where his inability to talk caused a profuse amount of talking on her side. She had gone on and on about this and that and anything to keep his mind occupied, to keep him from thinking about that night again, until her throat burned and his eyes were closed in sleep. She would never stop blaming herself for that night anyway and the pain in her throat seemed like a sliver, a tiny strand of redemption.

Sitting across from her in a hand-me-down sort of armchair, Tony couldn't blame her for the lack of talking. He himself felt a dead spot where his voice should be, stolen by exhaustion, anger and helplessness. If only he'd taken the back door, if only he'd gone at the very first cry of alarm from Timothy, if only, if only.

Tony coughed, reminding her of his presence and himself to start asking questions. She obviously knew what happened long ago when Timothy was just 16. When she walked into that hospital room and saw him, did she see the connection immediately, or did she see the look in his eyes and realize it then? Did he make some silent communication to help her make the connection? Tony felt a stirring bite of envy. So, he and the McGeek weren't blood related, but really, they were basically family. Why hadn't Timothy trusted him with this knowledge?

Even as he thought the absurd question, he knew the answer. The person Timothy thought Tony was would never sympathize with the painful experience he had endured. A man should be a man. Anything weaker was pathetic, shameful. And it hurt Tony to think that Timothy had such distrust for him.

"So," Tony said, voice scratchy, "What happened May 7, 1995?"

"A lot of things," she said almost immediately, but not sarcastically- almost ominously. Sarah didn't look up, or look around- just kept staring forward with that dead look in her eyes. It was like the emotion in her brother's heart was manifested on her body. "A lot of things… "

Tony resisted the urge to make some smart remark. She was hurting and this sort of thing took honey rather than vinegar. So he said gently: "Well, specifically, what happened to M- to Tim?" Sarah could also, technically, be called McGee, but it was weird to call the younger agent by his first name.

Sarah finally looked up and her expression was so regret-filled, it physically hurt to maintain eye contact. "It was the day I convinced him to go to the police. Load of help that did." Her words at the end with filled with scorn and self-loathing. It must've been an unsuccessful case. Tony made a note of that in the little notebook he held.

"Tell me about what he went to the police with. What was he reporting?" Tony didn't know if she would turn that famous sharp tongue on him for his artless prod, but the response was deflated, complacent. Her eyes were misty as she relived the pain of unquestionable guilt.

"It was all my fault. All of it." She had been deep in the world of nighttime socializing and the seedier, albeit more fun, life of some teens. More so than her brother. "If only I… If only…. " Her already rasping voice from the hour-long monologue in Timothy's room broke to the point of almost silence. Her eyes turned to fire and hate, and she whispered:

"If it hadn't been for me, that son of a bitch would've never touched Tim."

* * *

**so please, tell me if you guys forgive me. i'm really, really sorry that i didn't update when i said i would. ='( the forces of fate were against me! and i still need input on pairings, and how you think the chappie was. short, but powerful- i hope. **


	8. Black Night Revelations

**HEY GUYS WUTS UP. Sorry for massive hiatus. been real busy. Real tony heavy chappie i think yall will like. typos are going to be everywhere. it's really late (or real early more accurately) and i must sleep not. oh yeah, review replies:**

**HaremPriestess: That a good idea I was already leaning towards. We'll see where the story takes the pairings :3**

**yellow blaze: oh gee thanks! i'm flattered -blushes- the feedback means a lot to me!**

**Fullmetal Embers: oh it's juicy, and dark! But that's why we read'em, amirite?**

**marnie o'field: Oh i know the feeling! I hate to torture you really! D= Hopefully i'll keep up more so now that i've jumped my personal shark. And it's mistress in case you're wondering -curtsies- =)**

**Llanea: 'honest writing'- _that _****is a compliment that touches my heart. -bows-**

_

* * *

Chapter Eight: Black Night Revelations_

"Don't get me wrong, Tim's always been a sweet guy," Sarah said. "When we were in high school, he was never the popular kid. So one night, I was going to some party and I got him to come too."

Tony listened, stomach twisting in dread. This wouldn't end well.

"We were at this big house and everyone was drinking. I kinda kept track of where Tim was for awhile," Sarah paused. She held a rumpled tissue between her hands and her hands clenched at this. Tony could practically hear the 'if only's in her head.

"It's okay, Sarah. There's no way you could've known what was going to happen." Though Tony didn't know what happened in the first place and wasn't sure that he wanted to.

"Well, I was flirting with this guy- he was on the football team- when I look back and Tim was sitting on the couch by himself."

Tony gave a shadow of a smile, imagining awkward little Tim sitting at a party alone. There wasn't any malice in the thought- Tony just knew that a party like that wasn't something Tim would enjoy.

Sarah's expression drew together, frowning as she tried to remember. "Then I looked back… and there was this guy sitting with him. He was talking to Tim and Tim was smiling." Anger burned in her eyes at this. "He brought Tim a drink, and I thought everything was okay. But then I got distracted. Me and the football player… um, we hung out in a back room for a little while." She smiled in embarrassment and Tony laughed a little bit, like laughing was a foreign concept these days. "Dumbass didn't bring protection so I went back out to the living room, but… Tim wasn't there.

"By then, it was late, and people were crashing on the couch or going home. Something felt, wrong." She hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms as if she were cold. "I realized I had no idea where Tim was. It had been- hours since I'd last seen him. I wanted to believe he had gone home or was just sleeping somewhere… But sometimes, you just… know." Tears pearled in her eyes, and she bit them away.

"Wh-where did you find him?" Tony tried to say, but he could barely get it out. Dark ditches and wet gutters flashed through his head. Had this bastard dumped him there, broken and bleeding? Or maybe he just fled the scene with 16-year-old Timothy laying on the floor behind him.

"He was upstairs." Sarah choked, but then fire started burning her eyes and hands. Her voice became smooth and steely. "I w-walked in and Tim was laying in the bed. The guy was standing over him. Tim… was silent." Her right hand tightened. "All I knew was that Tim was hurt and this guy was not happy to see me. I picked up this little stool beside the door and just, whaled on him. The first shot-" She motioned an upward swing. " -hit him on the back of the head. The next like, five swings didn't really connect, but the first one did the trick.

"I came up beside the bed and tried to talk to Tim, but he wouldn't speak. He didn't have clothes on." Sarah was sobbing now. "I found'em and got him to get dressed. He was covered in bruises, and he had a big cut on his face and chest."

"He has a scar… " Tony said.

Sarah nodded. "On his left cheek."

"Dammit," Tony growled, unable to hide his fury. "After what he did to Tim… and he gets so close again! Why wouldn't he tell me… " But Tony shook himself. That wasn't a question that could be attended to now, and he knew the answer anyway. "Then what happened?"

"I tried to get Tim to go to the police right then, but he just wanted to go home and take a shower. To forget everything. And when I pushed him," she paused, a flicker of some indiscernible emotion on her face. "He got mad." She squeezed her wrist. Something about the way she moved pulled Tony from his anger.

"What, did he… Did he hurt _you_?" The absurdity of the statement made Tony blink, but Sarah looked him in the eye.

"Tim was in a very bad place. He barely touched me- just grabbed my wrist. He felt a million times worse after." She sighed heavily. "It's kinda got him to go to the police, but the guy gave us a fake name, and there was no physical evidence left." Her face twisted in pain. "He threw away the clothes he'd been wearing and must've taken like, twenty showers."

"He ever tell you what happened?" Tony tapped his pen against the blank page of his notebook.

Sarah shook her head. "Just that it did happen."

"And you don't know the man's name?"

Again, all she could do was shake her head.

"What can you remember about him?"

"He was older than us. Maybe twenty? Tall, not skinny, but not really buff. Dark hair, brown.

Tony sighed and stood up. How long had they been talking? It felt like forever. "All right. When we find something, you'll be the first to know."

"Thanks," Sarah said, sounding exhausted. "I'll probably see you soon."

Tony nodded and went out the door. The drive back to the agency could've been an hour long. Someone attacked Timothy. Someone did something terrible… Tony pounded the steering wheel with his hand. He didn't want to think it. He didn't want to let himself realize the pain and fear that must've reawakened in his friend. How impossible it would be to get McGee to heal. But someone raped Tim, a long time ago. And Tony wouldn't let that man get away with what he had done.

Coming to an intersection, Tony pulled out his phone and called Gibbs.

"Boss," Tony said once he heard the line connect. "Sarah confirms what happened. At a party, when McGee was in high school, he was assaulted and he took a few days to report it. They don't know his name."

A sigh came from the other end. "Come on back then. Fornell's working on the block, but it'll be a day or two before they make progress."

Tony 'hmm'ed and chewed the inside of his cheek.

"What is it, Dinozzo?" Gibbs sounded too tired to work up the energy for aggravation.

"Ah, it's just- nothing. I'll see you in about ten minutes." Tony hung up almost before Gibbs registered the sentence and tossed his phone into the seat beside him. Why let Gibbs know how worried he was about McGee by asking about him when Tony could visit the fallen agent himself?

Later that night, Dinozzo pulled to a stop the hospital's visitor parking lot and cut off his car. He considered the huge rectangular buildings, with their yellow-lit windows and artificial orange lamps outside, then made his way toward the entrance. The front room had a quiet air of deflating hope, and the receptionist there gave him a tired smile that crinkled up around her eyes.

"Mr. Dinozzo," she said. Her expression had a tired threat in it, an alpha intensity that reminded him of Gibbs. "Here to visit Tim?"

"Uh, yeah." Tony gave a self-conscious smile as the woman wrote him a visitor's sticker. "How's it going?"

"Not too great- lot a sick people coming through. It's like we're a hospital or something." Tony's lips twisted at her wry joke. The woman handed him the pass and nodded. "Get along now, I have things to do."

Shoes clicking against the tile, Tony made his way down the hallway, passing the occasion doctor or patient. Timothy had been moved to the second floor for a more permanent room. He'd be there for at least three weeks, maybe up to eight, depending on his rate of healing. Tony wasn't as worried about the physical aspect as he was the mental aspect. The damage done there was unimaginable.

Tony couldn't banish the image from his mind's eye, those agonizing minutes in the ambulance where Timothy lay silenced, bleeding and terrified. His eyes darting back and forth, tears streaking down the sides of his head. The terror, the utter fear, in those brown irises, and Tony practically begging Timothy to calm down, that he was safe now. But the traumatized man just continued gasping for breath and clutching at Tony's hand. Tony shuddered at the cold panic the memory resurrected in his chest, the dread of knowing Timothy was an inch from death.

As Tony stepped out of his solitary trip in the elevator and gazed down the hall, he felt a prickle of unease. Before him sprawled a lobby with several open hallways. To the left was Timothy's room, and Tony saw the two armed guards outside his door, but something wasn't right. This late, there weren't many visitors left and everything was soft and muted so patients could rest. The white silence beneath the near inaudible electrical hum of the place made him itch and he walked just a little faster to Timothy's room. The guards nodded at his NCIS badge and let him go unmolested.

Timothy wasn't sleeping when Tony tried to close the door without too much sound. Tony turned to see his fellow agent staring at him with tired but gracious eyes. He didn't attempt to talk, since it was an embarrassing endeavor with his tongue nonfunctional. Just made a little 'hmm' sounded that, combined with a smile, conveyed his approval of Tony's being there.

"Hey, big man!" Tony said, lightly punching his forearm. Timothy's face split with a silent grin. "Feeling any better?" The reply was a tentative nodding. Tony went easily into one-sided banter, talking about this cute girl he saw, and how she was totally checking him out, and Timothy rolled his eyes, and they shared a little laugh. After a few more little bits, Tony went quiet and looked at the man he thought he'd known so well. Timothy turned his head questioningly at the somber examination.

"Tim, I… I went to your sister today." Timothy became very still. There was a dark look in his eyes, somewhere between fear and hate, and Tony was disturbed by the strength of it. "She told me about what happened. And I just wanted to see you, and say… " Timothy's face was twisting in pain. "That you're a thousand times stronger than me. I never imagined… I mean, I just want to you to know how much I admire you." Timothy wasn't looking at him, but the disjointed breath gave away the tear he was hiding. Tony put his hand over Tim's fist. "I'll see ya later, McGee."

Timothy nodded, and Tony left, quietly closing the door behind him.

* * *

**Man i was gonna leave the meanest cliffie but i met my word quota so i'll leave a bit here: Tony's danger instinct was correct. Something -or someone?- is waiting down the hall. Do we dare believe, that possibly it's- _him? _Watch out, Tony! D=**


	9. Rising Tide

**OHAIGUIZ Well. I'm updating. (After like a year of not doing that. Yeah, sorry. I always update when I'm realy sick tho. I have pneumonia, so that counts as really sick right?)**

**Thanks for the loyal reads. I'll post some shout outs when I, well, get around to it. Having pneumonia and projects and holidays to do and what not. Please read and review this mothereffin long chapter. -bows deeply- THANKS ADVERBS.**

_

* * *

Chapter Nine: Rising Tide_

On the hunch of suspicion, Tony lingered in the quiet lobby, standing uncertainly on the balls of his feet before sighing and moving towards the elevator. But something flashed in the edge of his vision, down the hall from the sliding metal doors and Tony was immediately uneasy. Hand on his weapon, the agent started after the fleeting figure and came upon the imposing door to the stairwell all at once.

Tony's ears were burning for sounds in the quiet of the hospital halls. The person had come and gone so quickly, with only this passage as the possible escape route. Every survival instinct screamed to stay back, to not walk into a potential trap, but his years of training and experience gave him the skill to approach the situation.

There was no way to enter the stairwell without making noise anyway, so he announced himself. "Hello?" Tony called out, low and anything but welcoming, gun clasped in his cold fingers. The door opened inwards so Tony was at the disadvantage of the whole metal door blocking his vision.

Suddenly the door slammed back shut and Tony instinctively braced himself against the force, so that when it released all at once he tumbled forward into the stairwell. As he fumbled to pick himself up and pursue his attacker, he only saw a glimpse in the dim place, a face unfamiliar but coldly smiling so that Tony was frozen for a heartbeat. A heartbeat too long.

The man disappeared down the stairs before Tony could even shout at him to stay put. Tony heaved himself off the ground and shot after him, listening to the pounding footsteps before him but the sight of the stranger just out of reach in the twisting well. Then they were at ground level and the man burst out the exit straight into the clinging darkness beyond the hospital's floodlights. From there was just the trees, maybe freeways or neighborhoods. Either way, he had a head start that Tony could not overcome.

"Stay there, or I'll shoot!" Tony shouted, panting, arm raised level with the top of his firearm, but the man had vanished with surprising speed. Tony's heart thudded in near panic at the strange encounter, the uncomfortably close call. That was the kind of speed that could outrun perhaps even Ziva.

Tony ground his teeth at the near catch then snatched out his phone to make an urgent call. "Boss," he said, still breathing heavily. "Someone-someone was here- at the hospital. Near McGee. I chased him- but- but he got away. Out a side door in a stairwell. Too much of head start," he added with the burn of self-chastisement.

There was a pause on the other end. "Did Tim see him?"

Tony hovered at the question, not exactly what he had expected to hear. "No. This guy can run, but I doubt he would've gotten past the guards, or even close to McGee at all."

"Well, good. Check on him, then come straight back here to give a description. I'll be damned if anyone gets that close again." Gibbs was breathing anger in this response, but Tony knew it was not directed at him or Gibbs himself. Gibbs knew the man at large was close, and the temptation to lash out and find him himself was alluring.

"Yes, boss," Tony said to the sound of a phone being hung up. At once, he made his way back to Timothy's room, peering only through the wired-laced glass to ascertain his condition, rather than challenging the guards again for so short a visit. Timothy was asleep, almost soundly as it looked. Tony turned away and left the hospital, deeply unsettled at how insecure the facility now seemed.

Within his room, Timothy was not asleep, not asleep at all. He kept his eyes closed and his breath deep and regular, but his thoughts spun away furiously fast.

So his friends knew his darkest secret. And that darkest secret was back to get him. His fingers tightened slightly in the semblance of a fist. He had to fight that instinctive flush of panic that made his blood redder and his body twitch with the urge to run and keep running. That would not do. His brow knitted under his mask of sleep. Now he was choosing between that 16-year-old choice to let the fear bury itself in forgettable ice, or to face the problem in the full-force of its fire.

Timothy was not aware that Tony came by briefly to see him in his false position of near-restful sleep, or of the chase that had preceded the visit. He did see in his mind's eye, that warm, supportive faces of his friends, of Tony, of Ziva, of Gibbs. Of Abby and Ducky and everyone. And he was older now, stronger, having passed the rigors of field agent training and the trials of experience. He was wiser and, most importantly, not alone. That man could do what he liked, Timothy figured, but he was going to have a hard time getting it done.

In Abby's lab, Tony hunched over a computer screen while Abby sat stiffly before it, fingers tapping away at the keyboard and mouse clicking inexorably at the senior agent's prompts.

"No, no, paler skin, deeper- um, here area," Tony said vaguely, motioning at the hollows of his own cheeks to specify. "And dark hair, not black, but I can't say brown either. Green-brown eyes, though. I know that for sure." He had seen those icy panels of hazel flash up at him for a split second, their impassive color and infuriating confidence striking soundly in his memory. Still fresh, still burning.

The product of the digital sketch was a middle-aged man with dark hair and eyes and a intensely blank expression. Tony could only barely get himself to recall the emotion that had played on those features, the sickening dread that rose when he thought of it nearly mastering him again.

Abby sat back heavily. "This is it? The guy?" The nuance in her voice implied a stronger solemnity than the words 'the guy' seemed able to convey. Tony raked the screen with his glare, unable to separate his loathing for Timothy's yet-unascertained attacker and this stranger. Perhaps they were one in the same, but no one could be anywhere sure of that yet.

The next few weeks passed with unsettled quiet as Timothy recovered and the agents stumbled unhelpfully along with their investigation. The block on the man had yet to break, despite Fornell's and Gibbs' combined barrages.

Fornell could only reply, when pressed, "The FBI must want him bad for something, to not let up for an assault on a government official, and a potential sex offender at that." The blunt statement of fact almost made Gibbs flinch but he waited, and nodded, and even tanked Fornell for his help. They would all wait, until Timothy could speak and reveal the precious few details they needed to further pursue the criminal.

Up to the point of leaving the hospital and walking on his own and even making small excursions into the other halls of the hospital with his entourage of guards, Timothy had been counseling himself into confidence, into strength. This was justice he was fighting for, his own justice. For all he knew, other people's justice as well, should his attacker have hurt anyone else. But that didn't make the telling any easier.

So he went to his apartment, tentatively, as if it would be less his own after all his time away. But for some dust and some tidying some friend had done in his absence, it was the same home, the same clothes, the same security. The rooms were a bit cold, as he shuffled through, both Abby and Sarah waiting uneasily at his sides should he stumble or become weak. Already, his face was tight with the first stirrings of pain and exertion.

Gibbs had asked him if he wanted to be questioned at home, at NCIS, at some neutral place away from either familiars. Timothy in the end decided on a meeting room above NCIS, secure but almost brusquely unfriendly. He could afford to associate the place with unpleasant memories- there was nothing to lose there in the first place.

A little less than a month after the assault did nothing but make dull the agents who were constantly on alert for trouble that might entangle their friend. They were tired of being unsure of his and perhaps their own safety. The stranger had not been sighted since Tony had chased him down the stairs and his likeness was not recognized when posted with other wanted profiles on all the governmental sites and offices. What did grow sharper was the agents' shared unease of the telling. They didn't want Timothy to suffer more than he had to, and surely recalling the events would be worse than calling through broken glass.

"Want anything? To drink?" Gibbs asked, waving his coffee, then motioned towards an ornate bottle of amber liquid on a back shelf. Timothy, all the while, settled into a cushy rolling chair with nothing but the slightest hiss of discomfort. Already, his boss's ingratiating tone was making him wary.

"Just- water." He conquered the urge for anything stronger than tea, as caffeine or alcohol would just hinder the healing process, though speech still sat oddly on his warped tongue. It wasn't a lisp but more a pondering pace that made sure everything came out intelligibly.

Gibbs came back with a water bottle in a quick heartbeat, than sat to his side at an angle from Timothy's orientation, not quite beside him or in front of him at the rectangular sides of the table. He didn't hesitate beyond what he felt was obligatory, though he knew Timothy was not quite passed the uncomfortable aspect of the situation. His boss, however, could only see it as necessary to the means of the case, ultimately helpful at the end. Timothy's reluctance was almost aggravatingly counterproductive to his own case. But Gibbs knew patience and gentleness. He would not hurt the already pained agent for the sake of information.

"We couldn't get to your assault files from '95," Gibbs began, rearranging the papers he had laid on the table before him, more useful to have something in his hands than to read what the lines said. Timothy's eyes snapped up at this, no longer as defensive as they would have been, but just as guarded. "So we will have to start there." Gibbs looked up, imploring, but Timothy sighed and looked away.

"I don't remember much- I mean, I don't think I remember much. I've never really tried." He petered out weakly, fingering the water bottle as the condensation on its surface wetted his hands. "Well, it was May 1995. I went with Sarah to a party, I don't remember where. It was awkward. Everybody drinking, roughhousing. I was a bit- out of place. And I wouldn't linger around Sarah. She was busy." Timothy scratched his head at this, passed acknowledging embarrassment at a situation that someone cooler would have handled with ease. That was not at all important to him, those teenage insecurities far behind him now.

"So I had a few sips of beer." Timothy's mouth scrunched at the memory, the taste almost completely removed from what beer actually tasted like. The first taste had and would always seem terrible. "But I wasn't drunk, hardly buzzed even." Silence descended around him. "Then he sat next to me."

Gibbs leaned in slightly, concerned, but the emotion slowly invading his agent's features was not panic, but cold rage. That bloodthirsty coloring on his normally-gentle features was enough to make Gibbs inwardly shudder. He had to blow out a preparatory sigh before asking his next question.

"And this was-?"

"Yes," Timothy cut in, eyes sharp, voice cutting. "This was the man who attacked me." Timothy took a calming huff of a breath before forging on. "He was older than me, maybe between 18 and 20, I can't say for sure. Called himself Joshua. He was… nice," Timothy added with a hateful glare into the past, eyes not on Gibbs or anything in the room at all. "He brought me a sweeter drink, something like soda and vodka or something. It went down easier than beer, and he talked me up for a long time it seemed.

"He said he knew me, he'd always wanted to talk to me. Said I was smart and stuck to my values, and that he admired that. He talked about things I knew, things I had an interest in. We laughed." Then Timothy's rage burned down into something like smoldering regret. It had seemed so nice, so innocent. He had seemed like a friend. "And hours probably went by. It was later, when he said we could go to a back room, away from the noise and what was going on around us- people making out, or guys fighting. Girls crying from their alcohol-spurred dramas. So we went upstairs."

Here, Timothy felt a his face start to burn with a blush. He had to explain how he accepted to go into a back room with another man in the first place. In those confusing high school years, he had dappled with his persuasions, one of them being sexually open to both genders. Timothy attempted to stutter around this explanation, but Gibbs interrupted him with a nonchalant wave.

"I don't care what you prefer, Tim," Gibbs said, and Timothy wanted to hide in his jacket from that supportive stare. Well, that was all good, Timothy figured, but it was another thing entirely for yet another well-hidden secret to be known.

Timothy could not resist a small bout of being defensive. "I mean, I'm not gay, completely-"

"I know, don't worry about it. If you believe that I would think less of you for it either way, then you don't know me very well."

Properly chastised, Timothy just nodded and hid behind a sip of water, cheeks still a bit hot. "Well, anyway, we went upstairs. To some bedroom. And… " Timothy found the words harder to come by, more difficult to flow like they had been. His fingers clenched around the water bottle with a crunch of the plastic. "I wanted only so much, but he wanted more." Timothy lowered his head and said nothing for a while, leaving the main tragedy at simply that.

"Then I was waking up, and Sarah was crying, and Joshua was on the floor, head bleeding. I… hurt, rather badly, and I was dizzy from the drinks and the pain. But I wanted Sarah to leave." His eyes flashed protectively. "To be away from that monster. So I put on the clothes she gave me and tried to walk out with her, pulling on her while she just cried. Joshua was on the floor, and I wanted to be out of there before he woke up. She wanted me to call the cops."

Here, Timothy would have said that he had grabbed Sarah's wrist, not painfully, she insisted, just sharply. But he was more shamed by this than anything and could not bring himself to say it. He told himself it was irrelevant anyway, and continued with his recitation.

"A few days passed. I remember this the least, I think. I-I was tired and cold the whole time, not listening to a word Sarah said. I must've gone to the police eventually. But they knew no Joshua fitting that description in the area, couldn't pin him down, and said sorry. I was so upset with the whole thing, I retracted the statement as far as legally possible. That is why- it's all struck out." Timothy waved his hand over the documents before him. "The FBI never told me they were doing more on this guy. I had no idea was connected to his later cases."

"And in the alley, a month ago?" Gibbs was suddenly tired, so tired of knowing that the people he cared about were always getting hurt, getting attacked. He hoped Timothy could not see the weight of the responsibility resettling on his older shoulders once again.

Real fear sprang up in Timothy's eyes. "That- that was different." He looked, wide-eyed, away from Gibbs. "He was so mad. So furious. I-I don't know." He buried his head in his hands, gut aching where his newly healed wounds lay. "I'll think about it. Just give me- one minute. I'll remember it. I will."

* * *

**So there ya go, my beautifuls. Please review? :D**


End file.
